


Dark Nights

by Somerandomwoman



Category: Breaking Bad, Breaking Bad & Related Fandoms
Genre: Breaking bad - Freeform, Emotional Hurt/Comfort, M/M, Post-Felina, pizza delivery boy!Jesse
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2016-10-24
Updated: 2016-11-05
Packaged: 2018-08-24 09:08:19
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 2
Words: 3,551
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/8366509
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Somerandomwoman/pseuds/Somerandomwoman
Summary: Sad Cinnabon Gene orders a pizza, but gets a surprise





	1. Chapter 1

**Author's Note:**

  * For [cinnabongene](https://archiveofourown.org/users/cinnabongene/gifts).



> So I decided to stop tormenting Cinnabongene with anons on tumblr and fleshed this out.

“God dammit.”  
  
Gene looks at the empty bottle and sighs.  So much for his evening plans.  He pushes himself up from the low cupboard, knees cracking, and slumps against the counter.  
  
What should he do now, he wonders.  Yeah, he could go down to the bottle store and get some more.  But he’s not sure if he can be bothered putting up with their judgement yet again - yeah, it’s that sad old dude, the one who comes in late at night to get the biggest bottle of the cheapest scotch.  
  
But he needs something to blot out the psychic pain, something that can relieve the oppressing banality of his life, just for a moment.  Something that lets him think about anything else, rather than what is right now.  
  
He checks the cupboard.    
  
Dammit.  Out of Xanax too.  
  
“C’mon, Saul, think!”he says aloud, then scolds himself for using that name.  He tries not to, because usually it just makes things worse, reminding him of how good he had it there for a while.  He knows he needs to leave that behind.  It’s never coming back.  
  
Pizza, he thinks.  Pure, unadulterated junk food.  Yeah.  Just grease and carbs.    
  
“That fits.  Trash food for the trash man.”  
  
Gene knows he probably shouldn’t.  It’s not like he eats that well anyway.  And it’s not how it was back . . . then, when he knew he would work it off at the squash club, or if it came to it, get some lipo if he needed to.  But tonight he just needs something to mop up his sadness.  
  
Sinking into his chair he dials the number and puts in his order.  A large pizza.  Yeah, with a cheesy crust.  And fries.  Fuck it.  He pays by credit card so he can just take the pizza when it arrives, minimising the amount of time he is exposed to the world.  
  
  
He wakes with a start when he hears the knock on the door.  He opens it up and catches a brief look at the delivery boy, before looking down, like he does most of the time, these days.  
  
He’s very hairy for a delivery boy, Gene thinks.  Don’t these places have grooming rules?  He doesn’t know how people put up with beards, actually.  Every day he wants to shave his moustache off, strip it from his face.  
  
“Large pepperoni with anchovies and fries?” the boy grunts at him.  
  
Something in that voice sounded familiar, but . . . no.  Stop imagining things, Gene.  
  
“Yeah, thanks,” Gene replies, taking the boxes.  The kid slips him the receipt and their hands brush for a moment, lingering enough for Gene to wonder if it was intentional or not.  A faint tingle runs through his hand at the contact with another human being.  
  
Before he can look the kid in the eye he’s turned and gone, disappearing into the dark and snow.  Gene sighs and closes the door, putting the boxes down on the countertop.    
  
He looks at the folded receipt, about to throw it away, but sees something written on it. Probably something about only giving a crummy tip, he thinks as he unfolds it.  But it’s a string of numbers.  It takes him a second to work out it’s a phone number, it’s been so long since he’s been given one.  But . . . no.  It can’t be.  
  
It’s Jesse’s handwriting.    
  
Gene collapses against the counter, blood seeming to drain away from his limbs.  Jesse?  Saul had hoped Jesse was alive, but Gene tried not to think about him at all.  He didn’t want yet another source of sadness in his life.  Sometimes, occasionally, when he felt like he had a grip on his life, he might daydream a bit, think about something joyful, like eating icecream together.  But otherwise it just reminded him of how much he had lost, and he avoided it.  
  
Yet right now, in his hand, was proof Jesse was alive.  
  
Hang on now.  It might just look like Jesse’s writing.  People can have similar writing.  You’re a sad, desperate old man.  You’re just imagining it.  
  
But why would some random pizza delivery boy give him a phone number?  
  
Gene stops this train of thought before it crashes and goes back to his pizza.  It’s gone cold.  
  
“God dammit.”  
  
  
  
Gene goes to bed, but he can’t sleep.  Should he phone the number?  What if it’s a scam?  But what if it’s not?  When should he call?  Even if it is Jesse, does he really want him seeing just what sort of a husk of a man he’s become?  
  
He tosses and turns, catching handfuls of sleep, but realises it’s no use.  He turns to look at the clock.  4.30am.  
  
Fuck it.  
  
He finds the receipt and his phone, and dials.  3, 4, 5 rings . . . he’s not sure if anyone’s going to answer.  He’s just about to hang up the phone when there’s a small groan at the other end.  
  
“Yo.”  
  
Gene takes in a sharp breath.  He _knows_ that voice, knows it with his soul.  But he gets hit with a punch of adrenaline and loses the ability to speak.  
  
“What the fuck, bitch, whoever you are, at least tell me why you woke me up at the asscrack of dawn!”  
  
Gene makes some garbled noises as he hurriedly composes himself.  
  
“Wait!  Jesse!”  
  
There’s a pause on the other end, then a quiet response.  
  
“Saul?”  
  
“Um, yeah.”  Gene feels a shot of electricity when he hears that name.  The name from when he had power and success and control.  And that voice . . .  
  
“Yeah, it’s me.  How . . . how . . .”  ‘How are you?’ Jesus, don’t be an idiot, Gene, he thinks.  
“How did you find me?”  
  
“Everyone in this game has their price.  They told me Omaha, and then I figured if I got a job where I got to see a lotta people, maybe I’d get lucky.”  
  
“How long have you been doing this, kid?  It’s been years!”  
  
“Yeah, about three and a half.”  
  
“Jeez, three and a half years, hoping the one day you’d open the door and see me?  But . . .”  Gene thinks about the explanation, but he has to know for sure.  
  
“Why me, kid?”  
  
There’s the sound of a long exhaled breath.  
  
“Did you hear the reports about when Mr White got killed?”  
  
“With the Nazis?”  
  
“Yeah.  Well, they’d been holding me hostage, making me cook for ‘em.”  
  
“Oh god, Jesse . . .” Gene puts a hand over his mouth as he thinks about all that would entail.  “That must have been-“  
  
“Shit?  Yeah.  But it gave me time to think about, y’know, stuff.  And I had to think about staff that was going to stop me going crazy, so I just thought about good times.  So I thought about you.”  
  
“Me?” Gene says, confused.  
  
“Yeah, you.”  The voice at the other end suddenly becomes unsure.   “I . . . I like you.  A lot.”  
  
“Wait, wait, wait.  The last time I saw you, you beat me up!  Although I guess I deserved that.”  
  
“Yeah.  But I know now you probably didn’t wanna do that.  It was Mr White that made you, wasn’t it?”  
  
“Well, yeah, but . . .”  
  
“We all had to do stuff we didn’t wanna.  But that’s over now.  I just . . . I mean . . . Can we . .”  
  
Saul takes a hold of Jesse’s verbal flailing.  “Jesse, if you’re trying to ask me out, the answer’s yes.  But not today, because I have to work.  Saturday good for you?”  
  
“Um, yeah!”  
  
Even though it’s been so long, Gene feels himself falling in to  a comfortable conversational groove, one worn deep with use. Even as he says the words he can feel the buzz return, the sense of control.  
  
“I’ll pick you up about 8.  Text me your address.”  
  
“Cool!  See you then.”  
  
This is going to be a long day.  



	2. Chapter 2

  
Gene worries about things.  He worries about a lot of things.  He worries about whether his shitty little car will be good enough for Jesse, now that he doesn’t have the Caddy.  He worries that his pudge will put Jesse off.  He worries that somehow this is a trap and Jesse is going to use it to get back at him for his part in poisoning Brock.  
  
But if there was even a chance he could be with Jesse, he would carpe fucking diem.  
  
When it finally gets to Saturday, he looks through all his clothes and try to find some that don’t have the smell of cinnamon ground into them.  He knows what he wants to wear - a dark suit, satin shirt, gold cufflinks - but he knows he can’t risk it.  So the glasses stay on, the moustache stays on, and that guy Gene from Cinnabon puts on a plain buttondown and Dockers.  
  
Jesse’s place seems to be in a reasonable part of town, a single-storey brick with a yard - at least he seems to be doing well for himself.  After all he’s been through he deserves something good, Gene thinks.  
  
His fist hovers above the door for a second, equal measures of excited and anxious.  He squeezes his eyes tight as he pushes through enough courage to knock.  A few seconds later Jesse answers.  He can’t have been far from the door.  
  
Jesse stares at him for a moment, like he’s looking at some kind of divine gift.  Gene only has enough time to see the deep blue in Jesse’s eyes before Jesse pulls them together, fists gripping Gene’s shirt, lips pressing Gene’s own, tongue swiping its way in.  
  
Gene groans at the unexpected contact.  How long has it been? he wonders.  His hands spread over Jesse’s lower back, slowly studying the form he had admired from afar for so long.  Jesse is so warm, so real.  He’s trimmed his beard a bit, but it still brushes against Gene’s cheeks as they kiss.  
  
Gene could stand here all night, but obviously Jesse can’t, because he slowly starts pulling Gene inside.  Although he doesn’t really want to, Gene breaks away from the kiss.  
  
“Um, are you sure, kid?”  
  
“I’ve been thinking about this for years, yo.  I know exactly what I’m doing,” Jesse says, fixing Gene with deep, dark, lustful eyes, the emotion so palpable it makes Gene nervous.  He swallows, hard, and Jesse raises a hand to the side of his face, cupping his cheek softly.  
  
“Are you okay with this?  Just say if you don’t wanna do anything.”  
  
“I . . .” Gene looks down and tries to compose his words.  “I don’t know if I can do this.”  
  
Jesse gently strokes Gene with his thumb.  
  
“What’s wrong?”  
  
“It’s almost like doing everything for the first time again,” he chokes out.  “And you’re so . . . I just don’t want to get anything wrong.”  
  
“There’s no way you could get anything wrong.  You’re perfect.” Jesse leans in and kisses him slowly and deeply, pulling Gene in by the front of his shirt.  
  
Gene’s brain is a tangle right now.  He can’t believe that even though Jesse’s seen him in the light - seen the combover, his flabby waistline, the sadness he knows his etched into his face - he still wants him.  His old moves are coming in to his thoughts, memories of memories, but somehow they don’t seem right - Saul might have done them, but does Gene?  And the fact that he’s finally with the man he’s desired for so long has just fried any remaining ability to think.  
  
But he knows Jesse wants him.  So he goes on instinct, and turns Jesse around and pulls him down on to the nearest surface, which happens conveniently to be a couch.  The press of Jesse’s chest against his own is too much, and he has to be even closer to him.  Gene cautiously starts pulling at the hem of Jesse’s t-shirt, watching for him to change his mind, but instead Jesse hums into their kiss.  
  
“Yeah, good idea,” Jesse says in reply, and he starts undoing Gene’s shirt front, pausing only to let Gene slip his t-shirt off.  Gene looks up at Jesse’s naked torso and traces over the tattoo with his fingertips.  His hand continues over Jesse’s collarbone, to his jaw, following the edges and curves under Jesse’s beard.  
  
But it’s then that he detects the remains of Jesse’s incarceration.  Gene’s fingers pause and Jesse knows exactly why.  He squeezes his eyes shut as the memories return.  
  
“Oh, jesus, Jesse.”  Gene wraps his arms around the other man, squeezing him tightly, hoping vainly that it will help somehow.  
  
He looks back at Jesse, tears forming as he thinks about what horrors could have carved such scars, what animals they would have to be to inflict something like that on another human being.    
  
Jesse clutches Gene back, and they lie there, together, for some time.  
  
“How did you survive?” Gene eventually whispers.  
  
“I thought about _this_.”  Jesse runs a hand down Gene’s side, and presses his face into Gene’s shoulder.  He begins gently planting kisses up Gene’s neck, across his jaw, the corner of his mouth.  He looks at Gene, raising an eyebrow, judging the reaction.  
  
Gene gazes back with half-lidded eyes.  Jesse is the only person left in the world he can be completely open with.  They have no secrets.  He is safe with Jesse.  As if to reinforce the point, Jesse moves one hand in small circles over Gene’s hip, reassuring, comforting.  
  
Gene leans in and presses his lips to Jesse’s.  His tongue dashes across Jesse’s own, eliciting a moan from the other man.  Gene’s hands run through Jesse’s hair, over his shoulders, slide down his back.  Jesse sucks at Gene’s lower lip, pulling it gently with his teeth.  He traces two fingers down Gene’s chest, pauses to circle a nipple, tweak it between his fingers, then moves down to Gene’s waistband.  
  
Gene’s hips shift up toward Jesse, a brief burst of pleasure with the friction. He cautiously slides a hand under Jesse’s waistband, and amazingly Jesse _lets_ him, lets him feel that glorious ass, the tight musculature, the fine coating of hair.  Jesse begins grinding himself against Gene’s thigh, a low moan escaping his lips.    
  
Gene’s hands slide up to Jesse’s hips, fingers tracing the inside of his waistband.  He has to break away for a moment.  
  
“Can I . . is this okay?” he whispers.  
  
Jesse nods.  Gene can’t hide the tremor in his hands as he finally undoes the belt buckle.  He gasps as Jesse lunges in, palm clutching at Gene’s cock.  
  
“Oh god, kid!” he bursts out, head tipping back against the arm of the couch.  
  
Jesse freezes, concerned.    
  
“Oh, sorry, do you want me to slow down?”  
  
“God no,” Gene pants.  “Keep going.”  
  
Jesse crushes their lips together again and starts working on removing Gene’s trousers.  He pulls down the zip and runs a hand over Gene’s length, pushing the edges of Gene’s chinos out of the way.  Gene shuffles himself around in an attempt to kick them off, bringing his knees up, jerking the fabric down.  
  
Jesse pushes himself up slightly as Gene tries to untangle himself.  
“You okay down there?”  
  
Gene huffs an exasperated swear.  With every second longer he takes he wonders when Jesse will lose patience and leave him, this useless piece of human garbage who can’t even complete what was such an easy task in a past life.  He continues wrestling with the pants, reaching new levels of embarrassment, until Jesse brings a hand to his cheek.  
  
“Stop stressing, yo.  Take your time.  It’s okay.”  
  
Jesse kisses down Gene’s neck, over his collarbone, down his chest, until he reaches a nipple.  His tongue flicks across it, and Gene arches his back with a moan in response.  Jesse takes the opportunity to help pull Gene’s trousers off the rest of the way, and throws them to the side.  
  
Gene takes a breath to compose himself.  He finds it easier to peel Jesse’s pants off his ass, the loose fabric smoothly falling away, leaving only two thin layers of cotton between them.  Gene grips at Jesse’s butt and grinds into him, the feeling of Jesse’s length against his own hitting him with a wave of heat.  Jesse groans and bucks needily against him.  He rips his boxers off but pauses until Gene gives him a nod to remove his as well.  
  
Jesse curls his fingers around Gene’s cock, giving him slow, smooth pumps that bring a drawn-out moan to Gene’s lips.  He takes the head into his mouth, tongue sliding around the ridges, over the slit, swirling around the tip.  He lets it drop with soft lips and looks at Gene.  
  
“What do you want?” Jesse asks.  
  
Gene looks at him with confusion and surprise.  “Huh?”  
  
“Name it.  What do you want?”  
  
Gene’s eyebrows pinch with concern.  “I thought _you_ were the one who had been planning this?  You’re the one who’s been though hell.  I want to do whatever makes _you_ feel good.”  
  
“Really?”  
  
“Yeah, of course.  Always.”  
  
It’s only then that Gene realises this might be the first time in a long time that Jesse has been totally in control of a decision.   He can’t believe someone else is giving him back the power to choose what happens to him.  
  
Gene cups a hand around Jesse’s neck and brings him in for a kiss, just slow, soft movements that let Jesse know the last thing Gene wants is to dominate him.  
  
“I’m yours, Jesse,” he whispers.    
  
Gene ghosts his fingers over Jesse’s cock, but Jesse’s so hard already he arches with the sensation, a grunted “ _Fuck, Saul_ ” between clenched teeth.  He rolls them both over so Gene is on top, and grabs at his ass.  
  
“I want you so bad,” Jesse growls, pupils wide with desire.  
  
Gene swallows hard at the thought of being inside Jesse, that his wish could actually be granted.  But he has to pause first.  
  
“Uh, hate to ruin the moment, but can we move this to a bed?  My back is starting to act up,” he admits apologetically.  
  
Jesse has to give a small chuckle, but leans in for a reassuring kiss.  “Yeah, sure.”  
  
He leads Gene into a fairly plain bedroom, a simple wooden-framed bed in the middle.  
  
“Nice bed,” Gene remarks.  
  
“Thanks.  I got it at Ikea.”  
  
Jesse pulls Gene down on to the bed, bouncing slightly as they land.  They grin at each other for a moment, both still awed that daydreams held for years are finally coming true.  Jesse leans over to the nightstand, pulls out the bottle of lube, and hands it to Gene.  
  
As desperate as Gene is to get inside Jesse, he forces himself to take it slow.  He spreads the gel over his fingers and circles Jesse’s entrance, watching the pleasure play across the other man’s face, before gently pressing forward with one digit.    
  
“Fuck, yes, Saul,” he grunts as he looks down to see Gene’s finger disappearing inside him.  
  
Jesse’s clearly no stranger to this, and it’s not long before Gene is adding another finger.  He continues working them in and out until a shout lets him know that he’s found the line to Jesse’s prostate.  Gene presses in a third finger as Jesse opens up for him.  
  
“Yeah, now.  Fuck me, Saul,” Jesse pants.  
  
Gene leans in and kisses him deeply, the sound of that name grunted in pleasure jolting a direct line to his cock.  He smothers his dick with the jelly and lines himself up, watching Jesse’s expression as he slowly presses forward.  
  
Jesse groans underneath him, stiffening as the head of Saul’s cock tags his prostate.  When Gene sees he is completely buried in Jesse his eyes flutter shut and he lets out a long breath.  He didn’t know if he’d ever have sex again, and now he is deep inside the man he has lusted after for years, the man he thought unattainable.  
  
Gene begins rolling, shallow thrusts slowly building to longer strokes.  Jesse moves his hips in time, lengthening the motion, extending the pleasure that’s sending lightning bolts down to his toes, feeling every inch of Saul's length moving in and out of him.  He groans again as Gene takes his cock in his hand, twisting around the tip, pumping the length.  
  
Jesse brings his legs around Gene, pushing him deeper with his heels.  Every thrust is hitting the sweet spot.  He’s never had it this good.  
  
“Oh fuck, Saul!  More!”  
  
Gene doesn’t know how long he can last with Jesse’s delicious tightness around him.  His instincts take over and he ups his tempo, hips bucking feverishly, the clutch of Jesse’s ass pushing him closer and closer.  He thrusts harder, deeper, Jesse's groans of bliss urging him on.  
  
It’s Jesse who feels it first, the burst of light behind his eyes, the hit of the orgasm pushing out from the base of his spine.  He spills over his stomach, shuddering.  
  
A few seconds later Gene joins him, one final thrust releasing him, his warmth flowing inside Jesse.  He rides him through the comedown, squeezing out the last of that blinding pleasure.  
  
Gene slips out, and Jesse grabs some tissues for them both.  Gene brings a hand to the side of Jesse’s face, bringing their lips together for a long, deep, exhausted kiss.  
  
Jesse looks up at Gene, like he’s going to say something.  But he doesn’t.  Gene clutches his arms around Jesse, holding him tight.  Nothing needs to be said.


End file.
